Holmes for Christmas - A Sherlolly Saga Christmas Special
by thedragonaunt
Summary: Freddie Hooper-Holmes thought Christmas was wonderful, a magic time, when everyone was happy - well, most of the time. Anyway, he loved Christmas. Sherlolly/Parentlock Flufffest. Cover image of 'Freddie' by Sherlolly29. See more of her brilliant work on Tumblr
1. Holmes for Christmas Chapter 1

**Here's a bit of fun, a Christmas pressie for all my lovely readers.**

 **Holmes for Christmas**

 **A Sherlolly Saga Christmas Special**

 **by**

 **thedragonaunt**

 **Chapter One**

'Wiw'yum! Wiw'yum! Wate up! Twismas has started!' Freddie Hooper-Holmes squealed, shaking his brother vigorously by the shoulder.

Startled awake by his younger brother's sudden and rather noisy intrusion into the sanctuary of his bedroom, William Hooper-Holmes was not amused.

'Freddie, _go away!_ It's _not_ Christmas yet. Not for ages – a week, _at least_ ,' he grumbled, pushing Freddie's hand off his shoulder and pulling the duvet back over his head, as he curled into a ball and tried to remember where he had been, in his dream. 'Look at your Advent calendar and you'll see. There are lots of windows still to open.'

Freddie stepped back from his brother's bedside, with a confused expression on his face.

'But…' he gasped, turning to point through the bedroom door at the landing, where a large cardboard cut-out Santa grinned at him from the opposite wall and gaily-coloured paper chains, strung from the walls to the central light fitting, made the landing look like a rainbow tent. He and his brother had made those garlands, with the help of Nanny Marie, to decorate their old house last year. And when Christmas ended, the paper chains had just vanished, disappeared.

But now they were back! How had that happened? They didn't just put themselves op, did they? The answer was obvious. Santa's elves had come, in the night, and brought Christmas with them! This was important news and Freddie needed to share it with everyone!

He turned back to look at the hump in the bed, that was his brother, and he frowned. William was missing out on all the fun by turning his back on Christmas. What could Freddie do to fix that? He put on his thinking cap.

William didn't like loud noises. Maybe that was his big mistake. He'd gone about alerting his big brother to the exciting news in completely the wrong way. It was time to try a different tack.

The almost-nearly four year old tiptoed quietly back towards his brother's bed, leaned forward, positioning his lips right next to William's ear, and said, in a rather loud, and very wet, stage whisper,

'Wiw'yum! Wiw'yum! It's weally twue! Twismas has started!'

William, who had only just dozed off again, felt the tickle of Freddie's breath on his cheek and the soft spray of saliva in the recesses of his pinna, as his brother hissed indistinctly right into his ear canal.

'Ugh, stop spitting in my ear, Freddie!' he howled. 'It's NOT Christmas yet! And it's NOT waking up time, either! Go back to bed!' he huffed, petulantly. 'And stay out of my bedroom!'

Freddie knew when he was beaten. William clearly was not ready for Christmas yet. With a sigh of disappointment, he turned and walked out of his brother's room, pulling the door to behind him. But, back on the landing, surrounded by all the bright and jolly decorations, Freddie's spirits lifted and his smile returned. Looking up to the ceiling, he turned round and round, revelling in the kaleidoscopic effect that this created with the canopy of coloured garlands above.

Freddie thought Christmas was wonderful, a magic time, when everyone was happy - well, most of the time. Anyway, he _loved_ Christmas.

'Oh!' he exclaimed, stopping suddenly, and wobbling a little as his head continued to spin. He knew someone who had never seen Christmas. This time last year, she was still hiding inside Mummy's tummy. She must be really looking forward to seeing it for the very first time. Although she had been a bit rude to Santa, the other day, in his Grotto, when she screamed really loud and wouldn't sit in his lap. But Freddie had put her straight, the very next day, and explained that Santa was the Most Important Person when it came to getting presents so she really must be nice to him, in future.

But this was the best news ever! After all the big build up at school, learning carols and rehearsing the Nativity - in which Freddie had been given the starring role of the Donkey - Christmas had started at last. Ada needed to be told right away!

Freddie came down the stairs to the first floor landing, holding tight to the banister and taking one step at a time, his eyes and mouth growing bigger and rounder as more Christmas delights came into view. Those elves had worked very hard. He wondered how they'd managed to reach all the way up to the ceiling, as elves were really small – not as small as fairies, but small, nonetheless.

Oh, it was obvious! They must be able to fly!

Well, if reindeer could fly, why not elves too? They were magic people, after all. And there had been lots of magic going on in the house last night. He could still smell it! It smelt of oranges and cake and biscuits and pine cones. In fact, it smelt of Christmas!

Freddie reached the bottom of the stairs and paused outside his parents' bedroom door, listening hard to see if Mummy or Daddy were awake yet. He couldn't hear anything. William had said it wasn't waking up time yet so he thought he had better not disturb his parents. They might not be happy about that – although neither Mummy nor Daddy was ever as grumpy about being woken up too early as William was. But still, he would leave them alone for now.

Crossing the middle landing to the Nursery door, Freddie reached up to the handle with both hands and pulled the lever down, pushing with his shoulder at the same time so, when the door catch loosed, the door swung inward and he tottered forward on his tiptoes, narrowly avoiding falling over. Doors could be tricky, when you were barely three feet tall.

As the light from the landing flooded into the room beyond, Freddie could see his baby sister, in her cot over by the wall, lying on her back with her face turned towards him, partly hidden by her fist that lay on the mattress beside her head. Her eyes were closed so she must be still asleep. But he had no qualms about waking Ada. She always woke up in a good mood, all smiley and chuckley and ready to play – well, to eat and to play...

Freddie crossed the floor to the cot and, grasping hold of two adjacent bars, pushed his face into the gap between them and whispered – loudly - ,

'Ada! Wate up! Twismas hab started and de house id full ob magic!'

There was a moment's pause while Ada's ears received the message, passed it on to her brain, which recognised the sound of her Very Favourite Person's voice and sent out the instruction that fun was to be had. With a little wriggle and a squirm, Ada curled in on herself and then stretched out again and opened her eyes, to look straight into Freddie's face, mere inches away.

The moment she spied him, a huge smile spread across her features and she rolled on to her front, propped up on her hands, and said,

'Wurp?'

'Yoot, Ada! Yoot what de elbes did do!' Freddie cried, turning to point towards the open door way…to find it filled with the tall, imposing silhouette of Daddy, who had been alerted to Freddie's incursion into the Nursery by the baby monitor, on the night stand, next to his bed.

'Freddie, what are you up to?' asked Daddy.

He didn't sound stern. In fact, he sounded as though he might be trying not to laugh. Freddie, though initially startled by this unexpected occurrence, relaxed. And then Mummy suddenly appeared, slipping under Daddy's arm, holding her dressing gown closed with her hand, and she was definitely smiling.

'Mewwy Twismus, ebwee-body!' crowed Freddie and they all began to laugh.

ooOoo

 **I hope you enjoyed that. More to follow, this Festive Season!**


	2. Holmes for Christmas Chapter 2

**Here's the second part of my Christmas gift to you, all my lovely readers.**

 **Chapter Two**

'Well, since you two munchkins are wide awake, I suppose that means it's time to get up,' said Molly, crossing the floor to the cot, where Violet was standing up, gripping the top rail and bouncing up and down, gurgling with delight.

'Id Twismus early, Mummy?' Freddie enquired. 'Wiw'yum sed it not time por Twismus, yet.'

This was true, actually. Molly's parents had always put up the decorations and dressed the tree on Christmas Eve so, when William came along, Molly adopted the same tradition and they had done it that way ever since.

'William is right, Freddie,' Molly agreed. 'But the elves got rather over-excited this year and started Christmas a bit too soon.' She gave her husband an indulgent smile.

'Yes, sorry about that,' replied Sherlock, grimacing apologetically. 'Perhaps I'd better go and explain that to William.'

ooOoo

Downstairs, in the kitchen, the boiler was coming to life, switching on the central heating. Up in William's bedroom, at the top of the house, the clicking sound of the radiator warming up roused him from his deep sleep, as it did every morning, acting as a gentle alarm clock. He opened his eyes slowly.

What on earth had Freddie been wittering on about in the middle of the night? Christmas come early? How absurd! Christmas always happened at the same time – well, apart from last year. But that was for a special reason. Last Christmas Eve was Mummy and Daddy's wedding day. But there was nothing at all special happening this year.

William rolled over and lay still, listening to the sounds of the house. It always made him feel happy to hear these familiar noises. And there was one he definitely recognised – his father's footsteps, climbing the stairs to the attic. William waited, counting the strides from the top of the stairs to his door – one, two, three – and the door opened.

'Good morning, Daddy,' said the boy, sitting up in bed and smiling broadly.

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to ruffle his son's tousled bed hair.

'Good morning, William,' he replied, retuning the smile. 'I have something very important to tell you…'

ooOoo

'I do like Christmas. I just wasn't expecting it today,' William explained, sitting at the breakfast table, having recovered from the shock of his father's revelations. That had not been his first reaction, when he emerged from his bedroom to be confronted by all the Christmassy bling. But he was grateful that his dad had given him some advance warning. William was not fond of surprises.

'But it's alright, Daddy,' the little boy added. 'It is a nice surprise, now. And sorry, Freddie,' he said, turning to his little brother. 'You were right, after all.'

'Das awight, Wiw'yum, ou was duss tonfoosed,' Freddie replied, smiling kindly at his brother. He was so relieved that William wasn't cross with him any more.

'So, are we doing any other Christmassy things today?' William asked.

'Well,' Sherlock replied, from his place by the range where he was stirring the pot of porridge, 'I thought we might go to the Christmas Forest and choose our tree…'

'Yay!' shouted Freddie and William in unison, giving each other a 'high five'.

'Way!' Violet chimed in, clapping her hands together – she didn't quite have the concept of 'high-fiving' yet but she never passed up a clapping opportunity when one presented itself.

'…and then, tomorrow, we can dress it,' added Molly, to more 'yays' and 'high fives'.

'And will we have our special Christmas Tea?' asked William, still adjusting to the revised schedule. A Christmas tea after dressing the tree was a vital part of their traditional family ritual and, since this was Violet's first ever Christmas, it would be extra special.

'Oh, yet, Mummy! Daddy, pead!' Freddie cried.

'Of course,' Sherlock replied. 'We wouldn't miss that for the world. But first things first,' he announced, bringing the steaming porridge pot to the table. 'Breakfast is served!'

ooOoo

The journey to the Christmas Forest, a pop-up Christmas tree stall on a pub car park in Highbury, was made via the children's favourite mode of transport – the train - to Canonbury. On the way, Freddie knelt up, holding onto the back of the seat, looking out of the window at all the Christmas lights they passed along the way, lost in his own little world, quietly singing his theme song from the class nativity play.

'Yitta dontee, yitta dontee, on a dusty wode,

Dot to teep on pyoddin onward wiv a pwesuss yode

Bin a yond time, yitta dontee

Fwoo da winter'd nigh

Don dib up now, yitta dontee

Betle'em in sigh.'

Molly and Sherlock exchanged a private smile and lots of people sitting nearby couldn't help smiling either. Freddie just seemed to have a gift for spreading happiness without even trying.

From Canonbury Station, it was just a short walk to the pub car park where the Christmas Forest 'shop' miraculously appeared at about this time every year. They had the best selection of trees – all species, shapes and sizes – and all ethically sourced, which was very important to Molly. For every tree cut down, another was planted in Africa, in areas that had suffered deforestation in the past – hence the name 'Christmas Forest.'

The store was already very busy, with lots of people wandering about amongst the trees on display, reading the information from the boards provided or addressing the staff with their questions. From past experience, Sherlock and Molly favoured the Nordmann Fir variety because it was a lovely deep green colour and it had big, soft needles which didn't drop, so it was perfect for a family with small children.

Sherlock and William set about the serious business of choosing the right tree while Molly wandered around the site with Freddie and Violet, letting the children enjoy the sensory experience. When it came to choosing the right tree for the job, the Hooper-Holmes team had been caught out in the past through inexperience but now they were tree savvy.

Sherlock and William found the Nordmann Fir section and began their scientific selection process. First they carried out a visual inspection. Were the needles a bright and glossy green or dull and turning brown? That was not an issue here, as all the trees looked to be in very good condition. But, just to be sure, William bent a few of the needles, to see if they sprang back or snapped in two. They all sprang back.

The next task was to find one that was the right size. For this purpose, Sherlock had brought along a retractable tape measure. The family wanted a tree that was six feet tall to go in their dining room which had an eight foot high ceiling. That would allow for the stand, which added six inches to the overall height of the tree, and for the 'six inches either way' variation that tree sellers were allowed in any height category. Sherlock and William thought it preferable to have a tree that was six inches above the norm rather than six inches below since, once they got it home, they would need to trim two inches off the trunk – like trimming the stalk of a flower – to help it take up water. So, with the help of his assistant, William measured all the trees in the six foot category and found the three tallest – all six foot six exactly.

Now they looked at the shape of these trees. They wanted one that was evenly rounded on all sides and came to a nice point, at the top, that was not too elongated – as these tended to droop when one attached a star or an angel, depending on one's preference. They quickly eliminated one of the three on that basis, leaving two to choose between.

The next test fell to Sherlock to perform. He picked up each tree in turn and banged the trunk on the ground, whilst William observed carefully to see if any needles fell off. The first tree did lose a few – though not many – needles. The second, however, lost none at all. Father and son agreed that this specimen ticked all their boxes but, as a final test, they bent and released the branches to check for springiness, and were not disappointed.

Satisfied with their choice, the Hooper-Holmes boys took the tree over to the trussing area and watched as it was fed into the tube at one end and came out of the other neatly wrapped in netting, ready to be transported home.

'Do you need a hand taking it to your car, sir?' asked the vendor, as Sherlock paid for their purchase.

'No, thank you. We'll be taking it home by train,' he replied. 'I would be grateful, however, if we could leave it here for an hour or so, while we do more shopping.'

The stall-holder nodded, amicably, and took a large tie–on label from his pocket and a biro from behind his ear.

'What name is it, sir?'

'Holmes,' was the reply and the man scribbled the name in large letters on the label tied it to the tree then invited father and son to take their trophy over to the holding area where it would be kept safe until they returned.

ooOoo

In the meantime, while all this serious scientific investigation was taking place, Freddie and Violet were enjoying the sights, sounds, smells and feels of the Christmas Forest. Violet was rather keen to taste everything, too, but quickly changed her mind after putting a sprig of fir in her mouth. It neither felt nor tasted very good and she spat it out immediately, after which she was happy to look, touch and sniff only.

As Freddie looked round at all the people milling about amongst the Christmas greenery, he spotted a familiar face.

'Yoot, Mummy! Der id Mordan!' Freddie exclaimed.

Morgan was in Freddie's class at school. He'd started at St Paul's in November, half a term later than all the other children, and Freddie had been trying to make friends with him ever since but without much success. Morgan seemed to prefer playing with toy cars and buses and appeared not to mind having no friends. But Freddie was unconvinced. Making friends was what Freddie liked best.

'Morden!' he cried, jumping up and down with excitement and waving his hand, frantically, to catch the other boy's attention. Morgan did not even glance in Freddie's direction but his mum, who was holding him by the hand, did look across and waved then said something to her child which Freddie couldn't hear. He was desperate to run across and say hello but he knew he must keep hold of the handle of Violet's buggy. He watched, sadly, as Morgan and his mummy walked away.

Molly could see the disappointment etched on Freddie's face and stooped to put a comforting arm around her son.

'Why dudn't Mordan want to be my fwend?' Freddie asked.

Molly remembered how daunting it was to be the 'new girl' when she first came to Bart's.

'Maybe he's just shy, baby,' Molly soothed. 'Some people find it hard to make friends in a new situation.'

Freddie shrugged, with a perplexed frown, since that concept was quite beyond him.

Continuing on, Freddie's attention was taken by the door wreaths displayed on a trellis against the car park wall. They were constructed mostly of holly, bearing bright red berries, twisted around a hoop. Some were threaded through with ivy leaves and others had sprigs of mistletoe, with creamy white berries, plaited in, as well. One of these had a big red bow at the bottom that made it stand out from all the others.

'Which one should we choose, Freddie?' Molly asked her discerning son.

'Dat one, Mummy,' he declared, pointing to the one with the bow. 'I yite dat one best in all de wow'd.'

'I think I agree!' Molly exclaimed.

'And Ada yites it, too,' Freddie observed, indicating his sister, who was jigging about in her buggy, waving her arms and legs in that general direction.

'Then this one it is,' Molly confirmed and smiled at the vendor, who was hovering nearby, waited to attend to her customers.

While Molly was paying for the wreath and arranging to collect it later, she heard a voice say,

'Mrs Holmes?'

Turning away from the wreath-seller, she came face to face with the lady she knew only as 'Morgan's mummy'. their paths having crossed, occasionally, when delivering their respective children to school. Molly smiled and said,

'Oh, hello, Mrs..?'

'Tomlinson,' the lady replied, smiling back. 'I'm so glad I've seen you because I just wanted to thank you for the kindness your little boy has shown to Morgan.'

Molly was rather taken aback by this compliment, out of the blue, and could only open and close her mouth and say,

'Oh...well...erm...that's my pleasure.'

Looking down, she saw Morgan standing next to her youngest son, looking off into the middle distance, with a wistful smile, and hugging a toy bus to his chest while Freddie chatted away, telling him all about the magic that had happened in their house overnight.

'Morgan doesn't make friends very easily,' Mrs Tomlinson went on. 'In fact, Freddie is the first friend he's ever had and he talks about him all the time, at home.'

'Oh, well, that's lovely to know!' Molly exclaimed. 'Perhaps Morgan would like to come to our house for a play date, some time?'

'Can I get back to you when I've talked to Morgan about it?' Mrs Tomlinson asked, looking rather apologetic.

'Of course!' Molly replied.

The two women exchanged mobile numbers and the Tomlinsons walked away.

'Well, there you are, Freddie!' Molly declared. 'Morgan does want to be your friend. He's just not very good at showing it!'

Freddie barely heard her. He was too busy grinning and waving at Morgan and his mum's retreating backs, delighted with the unexpected turn of events.

ooOoo

 **This chapter is a belated (sorry!) birthday gift for MisJoely. So glad you had a lovely day. :)**

 **Two parts down, more to come!**


	3. Holmes for Christmas Chapter 3

**This chapter is dedicated to my dear readers for all the lovely things you say about my stories. You bring tears to my eyes! Thank you so much. :)**

 **Chapter Three**

Despite Molly's reservations about taking the six and a half feet tall Christmas tree on the London Overground, Sherlock was undaunted. When they returned to the Christmas Forest store, after their shopping trip, he hefted the tree onto his shoulder and strode off towards the railway station, oblivious to the strange looks he was getting from passers-by. The crowds of Christmas shoppers just seemed to part to let him though. Molly and the children followed on behind, helplessly giggling at the sight.

'Daddy yoots yite a soh'jer wib a gweat big gun!' exclaimed Freddie.

On the train, Sherlock stood by the sliding exit doors, holding the tree - that was half a foot taller than he was – to his chest, giving a whole new meaning to the term 'tree hugger'.

Back at home, he used a hand saw to remove the bottom two inches from the trunk and, with William's assistance, fitted the tree into the stand, stood it in the corner of the dining room, well away from the central heating radiator, stripped off the netting and poured two litres of water into the reservoir.

Job done.

The tree would rest now, until the following afternoon, allowing it to rehydrate and letting the branches relax before they dressed it.

Watching all this activity with great interest, Freddie could hardly wait for the next day to come when, after lunch, Mummy would bring out the box of Christmas tree decorations from the hall cupboard and they would all take a hand in hanging them on their beautiful tree.

ooOoo

Freddie was the first to wake up the next morning and must have asked the same question at least a dozen times throughout the morning, each time with a different addendum.

'Id it time yet? Betoz Ada weawy, weawy want to see de faiwy yites.'

'Id it time yet? De twee loots bewy sad wibout do detorwaysons.'

'Id it time yet? Tan I dus put _one_ siney fin'd on de twee, dust _one_?'

And, every time, the answer was the same,

'After lunch, Freddie, then it will be time.'

To give Freddie something else to think about - and to gain some respite from the constant questioning - Sherlock indulged his newfound passion for baking by helping the children make Christmas biscuits - gingerbread men – for the special tree-dressing tea. It served as a perfect distraction for all three Hooper-Holmes children.

For the task, the children's individual roles were assigned according to their personal talents. William was in charge of weighing and measuring. Sherlock set him up, at the end of the kitchen table, with the digital scales, measuring spoons and variety of different sized bowls and the boy set about weighing and measuring all the ingredients for the biscuits, reading the recipe from his father's tablet.

He then passed the ingredients to Freddie who, as chief mixer, was responsible for tipping them into the mixing bowl and stirring, vigorously, with a wooden spoon.

Violet was put in charge of quality control. To that effect, Sherlock placed a scoop, a dollop or a sprinkle of each ingredient on the tray of Violet's highchair so she could see, feel, taste and smell each one and smear them liberally over everything – including herself.

Sherlock took care of everything hot, sharp or tricky, which included heating the butter, sugar and golden syrup in a pan and grating the peel of the lemon.

'Can I try that, Daddy?' William asked, after watching his father use the lemon grater.

Having given the request due consideration, Sherlock replied,

'why not!' and passed the lemon and the grater to his eldest son.

'An' me, too, Daddy!' Freddie piped up, eagerly, so he had a go, too.

William and Freddie both had a try at squeezing the juice from the lemon, too, and Sherlock placed one half of the squeezed and grated lemon on Violet's tray.

Grabbing it with a pudgy fist, Violet took it straight to her mouth. The way she screwed up her face made it very clear just what she thought of the taste.

'Yoot!' chortled Freddie. 'Ada dot a mout yite a tat's bum!'

'A cat's what?' exclaimed Sherlock, looking askance at his youngest son, as William dissolved into a fit of giggles.

'Sowwy, Daddy,' Freddie moued, with an endearing smile. 'A tat's bottom.'

'So she does! How observant of you!' Sherlock replied.

Because everyone else was laughing, Violet joined in and Sherlock quietly removed the offending half a lemon from her tray so she didn't make the mistake of sucking it again.

Once the gingerbread dough was made, it was wrapped in cling film and placed it in the fridge to cool while Sherlock used the time to clean up all the mess – a lot of which was on Violet. At this point, Violet decided she had had enough excitement for one morning and Molly took her off for a timely nap.

After cooling for thirty minutes in the fridge, the dough was rolled out on the marble pastry board by the two remaining children, with their father's assistance, and the boys took turns with the pastry cutter – to varying degrees of accuracy – cutting out the gingerbread men and placing them onto greased baking trays. Currents were added for eyes and sliced cherry for lips, so the biscuit men all had happy faces. Finally, Sherlock put the trays in the oven and the timer was set for fifteen minutes.

As the minutes ticked by, the aroma of baking biscuits gradually filled the room and the level of excitement rose until the timer pinged and Sherlock opened the oven door – just a crack – to see how the biscuits were doing. They had all spread and risen a little and were a lovely golden brown. Perfect. The trays came out of the oven to loud cheers.

'Tan we eat dem now, Daddy?' asked Freddie, hopefully.

'No, not yet,' Sherlock replied, transferring the gingerbread men to a cooling rack. 'They need to cool so they go crispy.'

'Den tan we eat dem?' he asked, even more hopefully.

'No, not then, because we need to pipe some icing sugar on them, to give them hair and clothes and buttons,' Sherlock explained.

'So den tan we eat dem?' he asked, more hopefully still.

'And then they will go in the cupboard, until teatime,' Sherlock concluded.

'Oh,' Freddie pouted, feeling rather disappointed.

'But…' said Sherlock, with a smile, '…there's no rule against tasting!'

'Yay!' came the loud response.

ooOoo

Baking over, Freddie amused himself lying on the dining room floor, gazing up at the tree and singing some of his favourite Christmas songs, which included 'Dindul bewws', 'Woo'doff da Wed-node Weindeah' and 'Siyent Nigh', which seemed to help the time go faster.

At long last, lunch time came and went and the moment arrived. Molly put a cd of Christmas music - the traditional sound track to their tree dressing ceremony - on the player in the sitting room. Freddie jigged about with excitement as his mummy went into the understairs cupboard and emerged with the big cardboard box that had been hidden there, all year, waiting for this day. He followed her – and the box – back into the dining room and watched, starry-eyed, as she set the box down on the floor, opened it and began to take out the decorations.

First out was the string of lights, neatly coiled so they wouldn't get tangled.

'Here, Daddy, this is your job, I think,' said Molly, handing the lights to her husband. He took them and went over to the tree.

'Moment of truth,' he announced, plugging the lights into the wall socket right beside the tree and looking round at the row of apprehensive faces, pausing for dramatic effect. The sense of anticipation was tangible. Then he flicked the switch and…the lights came on, to a huge cheer of excitement and relief. Christmas lights could be so unpredictable.

Having verified that the lights were working, Sherlock switched them off again and began to uncoil the string prior to draping it over the branches, from the top of the tree to the bottom.

Meanwhile, Molly was still unpacking the decorations and placing the contents on the dining room table. There were baubles and bells and strings of beads, toy soldiers, reindeer, stars and snowflakes, all shiny, coloured, twinkly and bright. As each object emerged, William and Freddie gave exclamations of delight.

'Oh, I remember that one! It was my favourite when I was really little!'

'Awe wed an' s'iny! Dat is so yubbe'wy!'

'Shall I put that one on the tree, Mummy?'

'Yoot, Ada! See awe de pwetty fin's.'

Sitting on the floor, there was so much sparkle and glitter everywhere, Violet hardly knew where to look. For once, she was dumbfounded. She just gazed around in amazement.

Once the fairy lights were in position, it was all hands on deck for the tree dressing. There was no plan, no colour scheme and minimalism was not an option. Everyone joined in, hanging decorations on the branches where ever each person could reach until there was no room left for any more, except one…the tree topper.

The first time this Christmas Angel graced the family tree, William was about the same age as Violet was, now. The task of fitting the angel to the very top of the tree always went to the youngest member of the family. So, this year, that honour belonged to Violet.

Molly picked up her daughter from the floor and put the angel in her grasping hands. The baby's first impulse was to put the object in her mouth but Sherlock diverted her attention by pointing to the top of the tree, saying,

'Here, Violet, look! It goes here! Put it here!'

Molly lifted Violet up towards the top of the tree and, with Sherlock's assistance, the angel was successfully positioned in its rightful place.

There was only one more thing to do.

'Are we ready?' Sherlock asked. 'Ten…nine…' he began.

'Eight…seven…' William joined in.

'Sit's…eleben…' Freddie chanted.

'Four…three…' Molly added.

'Two…one!' they all said together and Sherlock flicked the switch, lighting up the tree and illuminating the whole room. William and Freddie ran round the room, whooping and cheering, as Sherlock and Molly laughed and Violet squealed in delight.

The special tea was the icing on the cake, sitting round the dining table – rather than in the kitchen – in full view of their afternoon's work. Smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, carrot and cucumber sticks, homemade jelly and ice cream – Molly's signature dish – and, of course, the gingerbread men they had made that morning.

In the Hooper-Holmes household, Christmas had definitely begun.

ooOoo

 **Just one more chapter to go in this Sherlolly Saga Special - just in time for Christmas!**


	4. Holmes for Christmas Chapter 4

**Here it is - just in time for Christmas! - the final part of my Sherlolly Saga Christmas Special.**

 **Merry Christmas, everyone!**

 **Chapter Four**

William awoke to the sound of his radiator clicking and, scrambling out of bed, went straight over to his Advent calendar. There it was! The number 24. It was Christmas Eve at last! It wasn't that William didn't like Christmas – he loved it! But he was accustomed to Christmases that started on December 24th and were pretty much done and dusted by New Year's Day. Then everything went back to normal. He could cope with that.

But this one had been going on for days, with no end in sight – except now it was. William had been opening the little doors of his Advent Calendar every day, counting down to the Big Day. And today was IT! Christmas Eve. After this one, there was only one more window to open and – more to the point – the Hooper-Holmes household had caught up with Christmas.

When it came to magic and the supernatural, William was just on the cusp of disbelief. He had his suspicions but he was still hedging his bets. However, he was all too aware that Mummy had been out for the evening, the day before Christmas arrived early, leaving Daddy home alone. And, when Daddy was left unsupervised, he often 'did things'. 'Doing things' was Daddy's way of coping with having nothing else to do.

Most recently, it had been a mass bake-out. Previously, there had been the 'Spring-cleaning' incident and, before that, the great Laundry Experiment – Mummy was still a bit cross about what happened to her lamb's wool sweater. So, when Daddy told William what the elves had done, he was fairly certain who was actually responsible.

William didn't want anyone to feel bad about having extra Christmas time. Though it was obvious Daddy felt a little guilty, everyone else seemed to be really happy about it – especially Freddie – and the house did look quite impressive so William gritted his teeth and worked hard at filtering the full-on multisensory experience for the extra days. However, now that it was Christmas Eve, William could relax and really start to enjoy the Festive Season.

'Du' mornin', Wiw'yum!' said Freddie, when his brother appeared in the kitchen. Freddie was already at the breakfast table, spoon in hand, eagerly anticipating the porridge that Mummy was stirring, on the hob.

Violet was in her high-chair, swathed in her apron, chomping on a piece of banana, to keep her occupied while the porridge was prepared. There was only one person missing – well, two, really. Nanny Marie wasn't here either but William knew she wouldn't be. She always spent Christmas at home, with her mummy and daddy – even though she was grown up. She had said Merry Christmas to them all the night before and left. She would be away for a few days.

'Where's Daddy?' William enquired, taking his seat at the table and pouring himself a glass of milk.

'Oh, he had to pop out,' Mummy explained. 'Inspector Lestrade called with a case, first thing this morning.'

William frowned. He was used to Daddy dashing off at a moment's notice. It wasn't that that bothered him.

'He will be home by bedtime, though, won't he?' he asked.

'I'm sure he'll do his best,' Molly assured her eldest boy.

It was important that Daddy return by bedtime on Christmas Eve because he always read 'A Visit from St Nicholas' to the children on that day. William was sure that Mummy could read the story just as well as Daddy, but this was Daddy's favourite part of Christmas and William didn't want him to miss it.

Uncle Mycroft had told William, a long time ago, that Daddy didn't really like Christmas when he was little and didn't even bother celebrating it when he grew up – until he met Uncle John. Uncle John loved Christmas and insisted on putting up decorations at 221B Baker Street and inviting all their friends round for drinks on Christmas Eve. And even bought presents. So Daddy had no choice but to join in, however ungraciously.

But after Daddy came back from 'being away', he joined in their family Christmas and read the poem 'A Visit from St Nicholas' to William, at bedtime, on Christmas Eve. And he had done so every Christmas Eve since. It was their most special time together.

'Don't worry, darling,' Molly said to William, who was looking quite concerned, 'I'm sure Daddy will be home in time. He wouldn't miss it for the world.'

ooOoo

Breakfast over, Molly took the children upstairs to get them washed and dressed, for the day ahead. William was quite able to wash and dress himself, and clean his teeth. Freddie still needed quite a bit of help with these things but William was happy to give it while Mummy took care of Violet, who couldn't really do anything for herself, yet.

William found Violet a bit of a challenge. She was only small and could do very little but none of these obvious disadvantages seemed to bother her. She had the knack of letting people know what she wanted, even though she couldn't talk. Freddie seemed to understand what she wanted without her having to say anything at all. He was always there to help her.

But then, Freddie had always wanted to help people, even when he was little, not much bigger than Violet was now. When they were in Rio and the bad men came after them, in the hotel, William had been so frightened, especially by the loud noises of the gunshots, but Freddie had still tried to look after him. William always remembered that, whenever Freddie annoyed him, and he stopped feeling annoyed.

'How are you getting on, boys?' Mummy asked, coming into Freddie's bedroom.

'I duss puttin' my sotts on, Mummy,' Freddie replied, tugging at one sock with both hands while William slipped a second sock on his other foot and pulled it up to his knee.

'Well done!' Molly exclaimed, smiling at her darling boys. 'Right, let's put our coats on and then we're off!'

The family were invited over to Mrs Hudson's for lunch and then they were all going to see a pantomime, which was a sort of play that only happens at Christmas. Daddy was not a huge fan of pantomimes, which was why he would not have been going even if he hadn't been called away on a case. Having watched this one, William found he didn't much care for them, either. They were so illogical!

The play was called 'Aladdin' and was about a young man and his mother who got tricked by a man into helping him find a magic lamp. But the mother was actually a man dressed as a woman and the son was really a girl dressed as a boy, so William could not understand why they didn't just call themselves father and daughter. And he could see straight away that the man was up to no good. For a start, he said he was Aladdin's uncle but even as he said it, he gave a leary grin so any fool could tell he was lying.

The lying man sent Aladdin into the cave to get the lamp but, after the 'boy' gave it to him, he trapped him in the cave and went away. But Aladdin, it seems, wasn't as stupid as he appeared. He gave the 'uncle' the wrong lamp and kept the right one for himself. Then he happened to rub the lamp – why he did that, William wasn't quite sure - and a genie appeared and granted him some wishes, one of which was to get out of the cave. Aladdin went back home and, with the help of the genie, became very rich and married a princess.

That was the story, in a nutshell, but there was lots of singing and dancing and plot twists before they came to the final conclusion. William felt they could have sorted it all out much more quickly if they'd dispensed with all the unnecessary stuff. No wonder Daddy didn't want to come and see this rubbish, William thought.

Freddie, in contrast, absolutely loved the pantomime. He watched, enthralled, as the story played out before his eyes, joining in all the shouting and cheering that, apparently, was considered acceptable at a pantomime but would have been frowned upon at any other sort of play. He even joined in the hissing and booing, once he'd checked with Mummy that it was OK. And when the uncle with the big twirly moustache was being horrible to Aladdin, Freddie felt the need to stand up and shout,

'Leab hib alone, you bully!' which made everyone in the theatre laugh and clap.

Even Violet enjoyed the pantomime, right up to the point where one of the characters – rather appropriately called Squirt – ran down the aisle between the rows of seats, spraying water on everyone and managed to catch Violet right in the face. She was not amused. In fact, she was most put out and showed it by screaming, very loudly until Mummy took her out into the foyer.

Fortunately, by that time, the pantomime was nearly over. When the last song had been sung, dance danced and plot twist untwisted, the curtains closed and the theatre lights came on. It was time to go home.

When the family came out of the theatre, it was already dark outside, even though it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. Mummy used her phone app to call for a cab and they all climbed in – Mrs Hudson included because she was coming home with them for Christmas. William was hoping Daddy would be there when they arrived home but he was to be disappointed.

ooOoo

Several miles away, in a dark alleyway opposite a row of lock-up garages, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were waiting for DI Lestrade and his team to catch up with them. The intrepid duo had traced their suspect to one of these lock-up garages, in which it was believed he was manufacturing dangerous illegal drugs. There had been several fatalities.

John and Sherlock had seen the man arrive by car and enter the garage half an hour earlier and, as the up and over door was closing and the light came on, they had glimpsed what looked suspiciously like drug-making apparatus.

'Come on, Lestrade!' Sherlock growled under his breath. 'Where the hell are you?'

'Christmas traffic?' John Watson offered, helpfully.

Sherlock huffed. He took out his phone and began firing off another impatient text to DI Lestrade. If the Inspector didn't arrive soon, he would just go in and apprehend the felon himself.

'No you won't,' John cautioned, knowing his partner all too well. 'We're staying right here until back-up arrives…'

He had barely finished speaking when the garage door opened again and the suspect emerged. It would seem he had only called in to the 'factory' to collect supplies and was now on his way to sell more of his wares to unsuspecting members of the public. He closed the garage door and locked it, shouldering a backpack that looked considerably heavier now than it had half an hour before.

The man walked towards his car, looking round cautiously but unaware that he was being watched. The observers heard his car chirrup and its lights flashed as he unlocked it remotely, opened the driver's side door and climbed in.

'Sherlock…' John warned but his advice went unheeded. His friend was already sprinting down the alleyway, out into the open space in front of the garages, where he skidded to a halt and stood right in the path of the suspect's car, his arm extended toward the vehicle.

The driver, initially surprised to see a tall figure in his headlights, recovered very quickly and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The car shot forward, tyres squealing.

'Sherlock!' John shouted and closed his eyes as he heard a sickening crunch.

ooOoo

Back home in East Smithfield, Molly, Mrs Hudson and the children were sitting down to their supper.

'Eat up, William!' Mrs Hudson urged the seven year old.

William put a forkful of lamb casserole in his mouth and chewed it, listlessly. It was getting perilously near to bedtime and there was still no sign of Daddy. Mummy had texted him from the cab on the way home but he had not replied. William could tell Mummy was worried, too, but she was putting on a brave face, as usual, so as not to upset Freddie and Violet but William knew that look all too well.

Freddie was buzzing with anticipation at the prospect of Santa's imminent visit. Violet seemed to have recovered from the indignity of being squirted by Squirt and, in between accepting spoonsful of casserole from Mrs Hudson, who had been honoured with the task of feeding her, was chuckling at Freddie's excited chatter. William just kept glancing at the clock and listening for the sound of the front door opening.

Supper over, Molly took the children upstairs for their bath and Mrs H stayed downstairs to clear the table and load the dishwasher. She was just as concerned for the absent Daddy as William and Molly but she kept it to herself.

Bathed and ready for bed, the children came back downstairs to put out a tray of goodies on the dining room table, with a glass of whisky and a mince pie for Santa and some carrots for the reindeer. Then the moment for their special Christmas bedtime story had arrived but, unfortunately, the reader had not.

'Come over here, sweeties,' Molly said to the children, with an apologetic smile in William's direction. They gathered on the sofa, Molly in the middle with Violet in her lap, William on one side and Freddie on the other. Mrs Hudson settled herself in the armchair, with a glass of sherry, and Molly opened the picture book, _'Twas the Night before Christmas,_ at the first page and…Molly's mobile phone rang out.

William jumped off the sofa and ran to get Mummy's phone from the dining room table. He knew who the caller was from the ring tone. It was Uncle John.

'Molly, I'm so sorry…' John spluttered, a soon as he heard Molly's voice on the other end of the line. At those words, Molly felt her chest tighten.

 _No_ , she thought, _please God, no_.

'…I couldn't call earlier. We've been a bit tied up...'

'John, what's happened?' Molly interrupted. 'Is he alright?'

'Yes, he's OK, just a bit battered.'

'Why? What happened?'

'He jumped in front of a moving car, the damn fool. But don't worry. He dived out of the way, at the last minute…and crashed into a wall...unfortunately. But he's fine, honestly.'

'So where are you?' Molly asked, aware of four pairs of eyes boring into her, four beating hearts, hanging on her every word.

'I'm still at the scene. The driver didn't get far. Lestrade and company arrived in the nick of time to cut off his escape. So we're just wrapping things up here.'

'Can I speak to him?'

'Ah, no, _he's_ not here. He's in a cab on his way home.'

'Why couldn't he phone me himself?' Molly asked, still unconvinced.

'He dropped his phone when he dived and the car ran over it. But that was the only fatality. And he asked me to tell you, don't start the story…whatever that means.'

Molly heaved a sigh of relief, reassured at last. She bid John Watson good night and Merry Christmas and turned to the children with a relieved smile.

'Daddy's coming home.'

Sherlock arrived ten minutes later, the only visible sign of his ordeal being a slight stiffness in his movements. He shrugged, awkwardly, out of his coat, took the book from Molly's hand and sat down on the sofa. With Violet in the crook of his arm and William and Freddie on either side, he opened the book and began to read,

''Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…'

ooOoo

William lay in his bed, mulling over the events of the day. It had started normally enough but had become more and more weird by the moment, right up to the point where Daddy nearly missed his favourite part of Christmas. But, to everyone's delight, he arrived – not in time but, at least, not too late – to read the poem.

Tonight, Santa would creep into the house – allegedly – and leave all their presents under the tree, drink his whisky, eat his mince pie, give the reindeer their carrots and be on his way. In the morning, Freddie would wake up early and wake up everyone else, they would sit on the dining room floor in their pyjamas and open all their presents, while Mummy and Daddy and Mrs Hudson watched and smiled and drank cups of tea.

Mummy and Daddy would cook Christmas lunch while Mrs Hudson got all teary, watching the family reunion show on the TV. Freddie would play with his new toys and run around the house, singing. Violet – well, who knew what Violet would do? She was an unknown quantity when it came to Christmas.

After Christmas lunch, they would play parlour games – Blindman's Buff, Hunt the Thimble and Charades – Mrs Hudson would fall asleep in the chair and probably snore, Daddy would sneak up on Mummy with the sprig of mistletoe that he always kept hidden for this very moment, and she would pretend to be surprised when he kissed her.

All in all, it would be a lovely day.

But, for William, the best part of Christmas had already happened, when Daddy read the story of 'A Visit from St Nicholas', in his lovely deep, warm, Daddy voice and William would remember that part with a secret smile for many days to come.

ooOoo

 **Ooh, sorry about that, folks! Just had to put in a bit of drama, there! But, as Shakespeare would say, 'All's well that ends well!'**

 **Hope you all have a lovely Festive Season. See you again in 2016. :)**


End file.
